From Thoughts To Actions
by nemesiscat
Summary: The thoughts of four different people before, during and after the war with Voldemort. AU slightly/ tiny slash in fourth chapter; can be overlooked. Try to guess who they are. Review’s are welcome.
1. Vampire

**_1_**

**_Vampire._**

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**_Disclaimer: All of J.K Rowling's characters DO NOT belong to me. Do not sue or you will get my pocket link and maybe a penny._**

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I was slinking quietly through the shadows of the old streets, gently cleaning the blood of my face with a silk handkerchief. The moon was up, two day to full, and as always my mind was filled with old, half forgotten images and new thought; always new, yet forever running in a circle. 

My body was running on automatic and thoughts of my latest victim filled my ancient mind, and then mixed with the faces and bodies of my previous victims. Her milky skin, that so slightly shone under the caressing light of the moon acquiring the black-lined, emerald green eyes of the lonely Egyptian prince I had once coaxed in my arms and to his death. Pale silver hair added to the imagined face, the silkiness of which one belonged to a lovely elf childling that had once crossed my path and too fell to his death. So many victims, so many lives taken and yet I live and feed and kill and I think nothing about it but survival. It is all together a sad existence, even after I learned not to kill, yet only drink, I find my soul seeking death at least once a year.

I am thousands years old, and the stories I can tell are never ending, yet always filled with life's fruitless lessons, those that none but fanatics and humans care for. I am still as beautiful, if not more, than I always was, but I know in my dark soul and mind that I am just a wraith now, not the young man I know I used to be, yet I cant quite remember anymore. And I think that I am just going through the motions now. All thoughts and memories and unconscious grace I am now. Yet I do not realize. And I do not care; I think I am finally falling.

I look around me and see the towering structures that so seek to meet the sky and capture it and take over and infest as the civilization does, and the cloak that is the wind and the night are woven tight around my body. And in my mind I see the dark forests and meadows that are now almost gone from the world. But always they are dark, not a forbidding darkness from the childhood anymore, but a mother and a friend and a lover now. But my thoughts have once again turned away and are searching for a new subject and so I forget again…

There are still hunters out there, out for our blood, the blood of the old ones, for the sins they think we committed. They are young, always young, and always foolish, full of shining ideas, their pure views of black and white. And they do not yet realize that even if they are killing "scum" like us, they are still killing, murdering in cold blood, they are still sinners in their own right. Of course some of them are older, they are a rare breed, those that in their own way have scratched the surface of knowledge. They see that there are shades of grey to everything, not just black and white. They know they are dark, so like us, even if they are alive, all of us killers, predators… prey. They only kill the young ones; they know in their mind they can never touch the old ones, we have lived through their traps, and we survived, and they have no more power over us. But our young ones, those who do not live, they are foolish, as bad as the humans; it is after all, all about survival, and only the cunning live and learn, and only the smart, powerful ones claim the last life and stand on the mounds of his fallen victims.

I have realized amidst all my jumbled thoughts that I have reached my house and my room. My pale hand falls on the doorknob, while I watch, detached as the door creaks open silently. I enter my room. No windows- I am not surprised of course, it was my design, yet I realize that is always the first thing I think about as I get in my "lair".

I think it is because I miss the sun, the bane of our existence and as I sit on my overly large bed I think of all the stories that I heard from the old ones. They are all crazy, batty really, scuttling about in their dungeons, mumbling about traditions and the "old times" and this and that. You get tired of them and their stories as you get older, and wiser, your awe transforming into scorn with the new times that they cannot reach. 

All the thoughts drown me in their darkness, as I go into my daily sleep, all the random feeling and thought consuming me, swirling into a colorful mess. And I think I am going as insane as the old ones… 


	2. Phoenix

**_2_**

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**_Phoenix_**

I sit on my golden perch, watching my new master/keeper as he scribbles furiously on a piece of parchment. It is sad to see him bent over the table so, his twinkling eyes not shining at the moment, his face looking 20 years older, his usually smiling mouth turned down in a frown. I however can understand this, these are hard times and the darkness surrounds us, squeezing until we suffocate, hopefully it won't succeed. 

I ruffle my feathers self-consciously, staring at all the trinkets and books and shelves and pictures on the walls. There is not a piece of wasted space everywhere, and all ticking and whistling and whispering and murmuring. And I struggle against my weakness; it is close to the burning day after all, and croon weakly. The man at the desk looks up at me and shakes his hand apologizing with his eyes before he goes back to work. I know there is no time for I have seen a million battles before this, and it is only a matter of waiting and seeing the amount of damage. There is always battle, it is a never-ending cycle, war and peace and war and peace, and they always think that nothing like that will happen again but it always does.

I am molting, and I watch with fascination as another one of my feathers detaches itself and floats to the floor gently, spiraling lazily. The Order should be here soon. And it will be strategies and discussions once more and then they will leave once again, some in tears, some in deep thought, but all thinking furtively that there could have been a way to stop this war. But all of them know there was no way and this is the nature and the way of humans. So they bicker and fight and get bitter. And the hope surges through them and then dies as another of their allies are captured or turn up dead. And then they hide behind one small, unfortunate child, and they force him to go out to battle. And I alone know that he will end it and if he dies they will honor him and then forget him, and if he wind they will do the same, or even worse forsake him and turn their backs on him and he will either go in the footsteps of our enemy or wilt and turn away and turn bitter.

I flutter to the ground, unable to sit on the perch any longer, and contemplate my long past…

When I was born first and served my first master, times were good and all was black and white, with more white than black. And then I could no longer entertain my master, so he crated the humans, in hopes of being their father to them as well as me. But as the years progressed and turned into centuries, humanity kept falling and there was more black then white in the world. And so my mater turned his back on them and left, his hopes shattered, disgusted with his creation. And his court followed and they locked themselves in a new world and never looked back, and I alone was left to care for this forsaken generation. 

And I saw how they kept falling and how the black now bled into the white and white into black, and only shades of grey were left. And I watched as they fought and killed, washing themselves in others blood. I saw as cities fell and rose and new philosophies and thoughts and religions came and fell. And I felt tired of the world and disgusted of its inhabitants, as sick and I seeked my fire every time.

And then just as I thought that I would break and cry and retreat forever there was a new race. A race of wizards, and I escaped into their pure world. But that soon fell too and now there were wars and hate and torture and killing here too and even as they strove to rid themselves of the darkness they fell farther. And then this war started, and I wish I could leave this world too.

And although those who see themselves as "light" and "good" win, their hands too are soiled with blood and their mind filled with the thoughts of how they got rid of the evil, and there are sacrifices and sadness, and they rejoice and settle down and the victory forgotten in light of a new war. And it is a never-ending cycle and I am tired.

And the fire claims me and I know no more, lulled gently to a sleep with dreams of better times… 


	3. Wizard

**_3_**

**_Wizard_**

I was gazing at the fire, quietly mulling over my thoughts, alone as always. The fire flickered and danced, it seemed it was my last companion. "Of course it wasn't" some would say, but that's how I felt, utterly alone. I liked it that way. 

I'd like to think it all started when I was eleven, I'd also like to think that I was happy. I was to an extent, everyone knew that I did not have a happy childhood, but at eleven I gained friends, people I could look up to, those who adored me. I had adventures and it seemed like I had everything I ever wanted and then some, but I grew up too fast. Since I could understand words and walk which was at an early age, I unlike many children, didn't see the world as black and white, yet I did not see it as a spectrum of grays either, just black mostly, or white as it seemed to time then. I thought, I honestly thought that I was lucky I was alive and had a house to live in, and that I deserved to work like a slave, and punished for what I did wrong, a child I was.

I was still that as I went to the magic school, still that until I saw my first death when I was 14. then it all crashed around me and the illusions shattered like so much fine glass. I was treated worse then usual at my "home", and I had so much time on my hands to think, so I thought, and I came to the conclusion it wasn't my fault. It was a long time before that happened though, but after that, since I could not come out of my dungeon, and I mean that literally, I went to magic, I tried my hardest, and it all paid of. I could do wandless magic and no one knew, so I started reading books I had conjured, and my knowledge grew.

I read everything, from philosophy and religion, to potions and charms. And I tried everything while starving and beaten, and I had failed to recognize then that I had lost hope in being rescued and that the treacherous, but true thoughts of not being loved but used traveled in my mind. And my heart did break, and I would like to say that I did not become dark, but I did. So I learned, but I never forgot that there were people out there who depended on me and I had to win for humanity. 

I knew then at the age of 15 that I was just a tool to them, someone they depended on, and hid behind, and were going to use as a sacrifice to save themselves. And I knew that whether I won or lose they would forget me when this was all over, yet I did not care. And all the anger and the bitterness I felt towards the world and I turned it toward my enemy, their enemy. And I learned there and then, in that dark basement that there was no difference between white and black, and it was up to you solely how you turned out. I did not know what day it was and I read and learned and thought and contemplated and made plans for the good of the people.

When I was at school that year I was quiet and withdrawn. I did not fly for fun anymore but for strategy, everything I did, I did to prepare for my final battle. Even my friends left me be after a while, I was happy to be alone, as much as I knew they were not my dearest friends to begin with, for they did not understand me.

I did defeat the enemy when the time came, I killed him alone, as I had always been. The world celebrated for months, they praised me, and gave me gifts and talked to me. And the illusion wrapped its hands around me and closed my eyes once again and I think I was happy. But then as I had known they forgot me. My friends went on with their happy lives and families and I could not find anyone, for I knew no one loved me for me, but for the image I had established. 

Less and less people came to see me and so I moved to the cottage in the woods where no one would seek me, and I stayed there. The nature welcomed me and I welcomed it into my heart. I was left with only my memory, my thoughts, my books and my nature, and I think for the first time in my short life I was happy.

And I sit here wondering, with an empty wine glass in my hand, and one though seems to float in my mind as it has from time to time; could I have changed something, could I somehow have changes the man I had become today? Yet, once again, the dying fire does not give me an answer… 


End file.
